


and i'd thought that you might feel the same

by merricats_sugarbowl



Series: girls like girls like boys do [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Meet-Cute, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 10:46:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5287733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merricats_sugarbowl/pseuds/merricats_sugarbowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is not a nightclub person, especially not when her ex-boyfriend happens to be at said nightclub. Luckily for her, the pretty girl with the dark eye make-up is more than happy to help her avoid him.</p><p>(Or, the Clexa "my ex-boyfriend is here so please pretend to be on a date with me" AU that's been floating around in my head since forever.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	and i'd thought that you might feel the same

**Author's Note:**

> As far as The 100 is concerned, I'm a fanfic virgin, so be gentle, guys. Title NOT taken from Taylor Swift's "Enchanted" as I've mistakenly had up here since I posted this. Title actually taken from Kyla la Grange's version of "Love You Better".
> 
> You can find me [here](http://spasmodictricksofradiance.tumblr.com) on Tumblr, come say hi! :)

Clarke is not a nightclub person.

She wishes that she was; it would certainly make Friday nights a whole lot easier, especially now that Octavia and Raven have declared it "girl's night out". Every Friday they show up at Clarke's dorm room after class, wearing too-tight skirts and clutching paper bags filled with clinking glass bottles, and pester her until she agrees to put on something low-cut and go out with them. They bribe her with fruit-flavoured vodka, which they know she can't resist, and coffee for the morning after, which is the only cure for a raging hangover, as far as Clarke is concerned.

For a person who doesn't like nightclubs, Clarke ends up spending a lot of time in them.

There are only three nightclubs near campus, so more often than not, they end up cycling through them. There's the Ark, a futuristic techno club with a lot of bright, flashing lights, terrible music and overpriced drinks with funny names; Mount Weather, an older place frequented by postgrad students that serves excellent bar food; and finally, the confusingly named Ground, where Octavia's dragged them this evening. She says that it's because they sell two cocktails for the price of one on Fridays, but Clarke knows better. There's a tall, tattooed bartender who Octavia's had her eye on since the beginning of the school year, and there's no doubt in Clarke's mind that Octavia just wants the chance to flirt with him.

Octavia proves her right and spends most of the night leaning against the bar talking to her tall, dark stranger. Clarke and Raven hover nearby, ready to jump in with some kind of reason for them to leave if it looks like things are going badly, but Octavia doesn't need their help. Within a few minutes, she's managed to make the bartender smile, and from then they're bantering back and forth like old friends.

Clarke and Raven take advantage of the cocktail offer, and when they're both on their second strawberry daiquiri, they're interrupted by a tall, scruffy looking guy with blond hair and an easy smile. He introduces himself as Wick, eyes flitting to Raven's in that way that means he's interested. When Raven smiles at him, Clarke discreetly excuses herself, not wanting to stand between Raven and a cute guy.

If she was the type of person who liked clubs, she might head onto the dance floor or try her own luck at flirting with a stranger, but she's not, so she just hovers at the end of the bar instead, observing the people around her. She knows that Octavia and Raven will scold her for it later, but she doesn't care. People watching is about the only aspect of clubbing that Clarke enjoys, and since both of her friends are occupied, she intends to enjoy it.

Ground is popular among the college set, so she's not surprised to see several familiar faces. The first one she spots is Bellamy, Octavia's older brother, a grad student at their university. He's standing with a group of friends, some of whom Clarke recognises, some of whom are unfamiliar. He's the centre of attention, talking animatedly and gesturing with his hands while the people around him listen. Clarke hopes that he doesn't notice Octavia talking with the bartender; he's the over-protective type, and from the look of the bartender, he's at the very least a year or two older than they are.

She also spots Jasper and Monty, two engineering students who are in her Russian literature elective. Monty's the only one with a genuine interest in the subject; Clarke took it just to prove that she could, and Jasper unabashedly admitted to her on the first day of class that the only reason he was taking it was to meet girls. She's still not entirely sure  _why_  Jasper thought he would meet girls in a Russian literature class, but she's given up trying to understand the reasoning behind why Jasper does what he does. Right now, he appears to be flirting with a girl while Monty stands by, looking amused. 

There are other people that she recognises—Harper and Monroe dancing around each other while a gaggle of boys gawk at them, Murphy downing shots at the other end of the bar, Miller leaning against a wall and trying desperately to pretend that he’s not watching Monty from across the room. Clarke knows that she could join any of them, but she’s happy enough to stay where she is, sipping on her cocktail and keeping watch on the crowd around her.

At least she is until she spots Finn.

The moment she sees him, her eyes dart to Raven, who, thankfully, is still occupied with Wick. Finn is a sore spot between them, and for good reason.

He and Raven had been together for two years when he met Clarke, and conveniently forgot to tell her that he had a girlfriend. Clarke didn’t know Raven then; it was before Raven transferred to their university, back when she and Finn had been in a long distance relationship. Clarke had innocently assumed that Finn was unattached. When he didn’t tell her otherwise, she’d assumed that it would be alright if she fell for him.

About a week after they’d started sleeping together, Raven moved to town and announced that she was there to stay. When she found out about Finn and Clarke, things had been ugly at first. Eventually, though, they’d decided that they were both better off without him—since then, they’d been practically inseparable, though whenever Finn reappeared in their lives, it  inevitably led to some discomfort.

Clarke knows that Finn won’t approach Raven, not while she’s talking to Wick, but she can’t say the same about herself. Right now, standing by herself, she’s a target—she wouldn’t put it past Finn to try to buy her a drink, and ask for the millionth time if they can put all the ugliness behind them.

She has to find some way of occupying herself before he spots her, but she can’t see a viable escape route—to get to an exit, she would have to walk past him. To join any of the rest of her friends scattered throughout the club, she runs the risk of running into him.

She doesn’t think she has any options, but then she spots the girl by the bar.

She’s pretty in a striking sort of way, with intricately braided hair and heavy eye make-up. She’s drinking some sort of clear liquor, a slight scowl pulling at her lips, and she’s staring into her glass like she’s searching for some kind of secret at the bottom of it. But Clarke barely notices all that, because the most important thing about the girl is that she’s _alone_.

Clarke doesn’t talk to strangers in nightclubs, as a rule. But, she thinks as she locks eyes with Finn from across the room, it might be time she made an exception.

Perhaps it’s the alcohol clouding her judgment, but before she can talk herself out of it, she’s striding over to the girl, hand outstretched like she’s at a business meeting.

“Hi,” she says brusquely, having to raise her voice to be heard over the music. “I’m Clarke.”

The girl looks at her outstretched hand, then up to her face, and finally back to her hand again, a frown wrinkling her brow.

“Lexa,” she says after a moment, though she doesn’t shake Clarke’s hand.

Feeling more than a little ridiculous, Clarke allows her hand to drop to her side, and decides that if there was ever a time for honesty, this was it.

“Okay, I’ll level with you,” she says, leaning in a little closer so she doesn’t have to yell quite as loud. “My ex-boyfriend who I have a _really_ crappy history with just walked in, and if I don’t look like I’m busy, he’s going to try and talk to me. If he does that, my friend over there—” she points to Raven “—is going to be _really_ pissed at me. Would you mind doing me a favour and acting like you know me?”

Lexa looks unsure, so Clarke sweetens the deal.

“I’ll cover your drinks for the rest of the night.”

The uncertainty vanishes from Lexa’s face. “Done.”

Relieved, Clarke takes a seat on the stool beside Lexa, risking a quick glance over her shoulder to see where Finn is. He’s talking with Jasper and Monty now, though she can see him scanning the crowd, no doubt looking for her.

“Alright, what are you drinking?” she says, turning around and offering Lexa a smile. The other girl lifts her glass and then drains it, though she winces a little after she swallows.

“Vodka, straight.”

“No mixer?” Clarke says, raising an eyebrow. “Hardcore.”

She calls over Octavia’s bartender, though it takes a while to get his attention. She orders a vodka for Lexa and another daiquiri for herself, and then the two of them sit in awkward silence for a moment, neither one quite sure of how to proceed in the situation they’ve found themselves in. Eventually, though, Lexa clears her throat and fixes Clarke with a serious look, her eyes looking very green amid all of her dark eye make-up.

“So,” she says. “Can I ask what the deal is with this crappy ex-boyfriend?”

Clarke tells her the story, but she keeps it short—she doesn’t really like to talk about Finn much, because although she knows that she’s doing just fine without him, it still stings to know that he thought he could get away with seeing her and Raven at the same time. It makes her feel cheap; like she isn’t good enough to be someone’s everything, even though she knows that that’s ridiculous.

Lexa’s kind about it. She doesn’t act like Clarke is a monster for being complicit in cheating; she agrees that Finn is an asshole and doesn’t deserve a girl like her. It’s nice to hear from the mouth of a stranger, even if Lexa doesn’t know her and has no idea if what she’s saying is true.

“Thing is,” Clarke tells her, “he keeps trying to make it right, and nothing that me and Raven say can convince him that we don’t want anything to do with him. I’ve heard him say sorry so many times now that the word has lost all meaning.”

“That’s why you’re hiding over here with me,” Lexa says.

“Well, Raven’s busy,” Clarke says. That’s an understatement—Raven and Wick are so wrapped up in one another right now that it’s hard to tell where one ends and the other begins. Clarke’s never seen such an intense make-out session in her life. “So I’m the only target for the apology train, and I really didn’t want to deal with that tonight. I didn’t even want to be here tonight, actually. I’m not really into the nightclub thing.”

A funny look crosses Lexa’s face. “Me neither.”

“Who dragged you here, then?”

Lexa indicates a tall, leggy blonde on the dance floor. “My roommate, Anya. She’s trying to get over a break-up. And—” she hesitates, seeming unsure. “And she said that it was time I got out there again.”

Clarke’s not sure if she’s allowed to ask why exactly Lexa needs to get out there again. They’re strangers, after all, and even though Clarke’s just poured out the truth about her bad dating history, Lexa’s under no obligations to do the same. But something about the frown that’s twisting Lexa’s lips and the darkness that’s entered her eyes makes Clarke curious, and she’s never been very good at containing her curiosity—even less so when she’s been drinking.

“Bad break-up?” she says, and Lexa’s frown immediately deepens. It’s unfair, Clarke thinks, how someone can frown that much and still look so beautiful.

“Not exactly.”

“You can tell me about it, if you want.”

Lexa’s eyes flash at her. “And what if I don’t want to?”

Clarke shrugs and holds up her glass, which is almost empty now. “If you don’t want to,” she says, “then I’ll buy you another drink and we can change the subject. But I’ve been told that I’m a good listener. And if you can’t tell a total stranger about all of your deepest darkest secrets, then who _can_ you tell?”

Lexa stares at her for a long moment, considering, and then finally, she nods. “She died,” she says, almost as if it's a challenge—like she’s waiting for Clarke to back down, to admit that she doesn’t really want to know. But Clarke just looks at her, measured and patient, waiting. When Lexa continues, she sounds softer. “It was a few years ago, actually. Car accident. But I haven’t dated since.”

Clarke can’t help herself. “Not at all?”

“It was too painful at first,” Lexa says, defensive. “I tried, but every time I went out with someone I felt like I was cheating on Costia. So I stopped trying and focused on moving on instead, and then by the time I was ready to date, I didn’t know how to do it. Anya’s been pestering me about it ever since.”

Clarke feels a stab of sympathy for Lexa. “How long ago did she die?” she asks.

Lexa averts her gaze suddenly, cheeks colouring. “Three years.”

Clarke hopes that her surprise isn’t visible on her face—somehow, she doesn’t think that Lexa would take it well, but she can’t help but be taken aback. Lexa is arguably one of the best-looking people that Clarke has ever met; with her serious green eyes and glossy braids, she’s pretty in a way that stands apart from the crowd. After chatting with her for the last half hour or so, Clarke feels fairly confident in saying that she’s got a good personality, as well. It’s hard to believe that someone like Lexa could be single for so long.

Hell, Clarke would date her. She’s gorgeous.

“So how’s it going?” Clarke says. When Lexa looks confused, she clarifies, “Getting out there, I mean. Seen anyone you like?”

Lexa narrows her eyes. “Why do you want to know?”

“Well, aside from being an excellent listener, I’m also a great wingman. I can help you.”

She doesn’t say it, but a little part of her is hoping that Lexa will say that she’s interested in Clarke. Maybe it’s because tonight’s the first time she’s seen Finn in a month or two and that’s messing with her emotions, or maybe she would have been attracted to Lexa even if he hadn’t shown up tonight, but she wouldn’t mind if Lexa started flirting with her.

But Lexa doesn’t pick up on the hint.

“Thanks, but I think I’ll pass,” Lexa says, swallowing a mouthful of vodka with a grimace. Clarke shrugs.

“Fine, but it’s your loss. I’m really great at—oh, _shit_.”

She cuts herself off, dismayed to see Finn heading in her direction. She’d thought that sitting with Lexa would be enough to deter him from coming over, but apparently not; he’s got a determined look on his face, and Clarke hates that she knows what that look means, but she does. He’s going to try to talk to her again, and she really, really isn’t in the mood.

“What’s wrong?” Lexa asks.

“He’s coming over,” Clarke says, ducking her head in a vain attempt to hide. It’s no use, and she knows it, but she can’t think of anything else to do.

Lexa’s looking in Finn’s direction now. “Is that him? The asshole ex?”

“That’s him,” Clarke confirms, wondering desperately if there’s any way for a five foot four girl to hide in a cocktail glass.

Lexa’s head is cocked to the side. “I suppose he’s not bad looking,” she says disdainfully, “if you’re into that kind of thing.” She notices Clarke’s odd position and her frown returns. “What are you _doing_?”

“Hiding.”

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job.”

“I don’t know what else to do, alright?” Clarke says desperately. “I figured if I was sitting with someone then he’d think that I was here on a date and leave me alone, but clearly I was wrong. Shit. _Shit_. I don’t want to deal with this right now.”

He’s almost at their section of the bar now, and there’s nowhere for Clarke to run. She’s mentally steeling herself for the confrontation that’s coming when she feels Lexa tugging on the sleeve of her dress. She looks up, about to ask what’s wrong, only to find a pair of lips pressing softly against hers.

Instinctively, Clarke kisses back, though she’s not entirely sure of what’s going on. She’s aware of Lexa’s fingers still tangled in the fabric of her dress; of the music thumping in the background; of the bitter, sharp taste of vodka on Lexa’s breath. She sits up a little straighter and leans in, bringing her hand up to the back of Lexa’s neck, fingers playing with the little strands of hair at the nape of her neck that have escaped her braids.

For someone who hasn’t dated in the last three years, Lexa’s a fantastic kisser. She’s all soft lips and gentle touches, and the way that her grip tightens around Clarke’s arm when she teases her mouth open with her tongue sends shivers down Clarke’s spine.

Just when things are beginning to get good, though, Lexa pulls away, and says in a slightly unsteady voice, “I think that did it.”

Clarke blinks at her, confused. She’s not sure why Lexa stopped kissing her; all she knows is that she wants to do that again. “What?”

Lexa inclines her head over Clarke’s shoulder, and she turns to see Finn heading back in the direction he came from. Clarke’s relieved, but also disappointed; because Lexa didn’t kiss her because she wanted to. She did it so that Clarke wouldn’t have to talk to Finn.

“Oh,” Clarke says, trying not to let her disappointment show. “Right. Um, good idea.”

Lexa raises her glass, a little smile gracing her lips. “Had to repay you for the drinks, didn’t I?”

Clarke forces a laugh. “Right. Thanks.”

They start talking again, but something’s changed now. There’s an awkwardness hanging in the air between them, and it doesn’t help that Clarke can’t stop thinking about how much she wants to kiss Lexa again. But she can’t keep thinking about that—Lexa’s just a stranger that she met in a club, a stranger who was kind enough to help her out with her Finn problem. She’s nothing more than that, and after tonight, they’ll probably never see each other again.

Still, Clarke can’t help but be relieved when Octavia approaches and says that they have to leave, because Raven’s drank too much. She’s not sure how Raven managed to drink so much given that her lips were attached to Wick’s for most of the night, but she’s grateful that she’s gotten an excuse to go home.

Octavia excuses herself to go and say goodbye to Lincoln, her handsome bartender, and Clarke offers Lexa an awkward smile.

“Thanks for tonight,” she says. “You really helped me out.”

Lexa shrugs. “No problem. Thanks for the drinks.”

“No problem,” Clarke echoes. “Well, goodnight then, I guess.”

There’s something hovering in the air between them, unsaid, but Clarke isn’t sure what it is or how to say it, so she goes to find Raven instead. She’s unsteady on her feet and murmuring about not feeling well, but she seems happy all the same; when she sees Clarke, her face breaks into a wide smile and she starts to tell her all about Wick, who is apparently the greatest thing to happen to the earth since sliced bread. Clarke knows better than to argue with Raven when she’s drunk, so she simply hooks an arm around her shoulders and helps her out into the fresh air.

They hover outside the club, waiting for Octavia, and Clarke tries to quell the sick sensation in her own stomach. It’s not from drinking, she knows. It’s a feeling she knows all too well; the feeling of wanting someone that she can’t have.

After a minute or two, Raven starts to heave, and then Clarke finds herself in the wonderful position of holding back her friend’s hair while she vomits into the gutter. While she’s still making sure that Raven doesn’t destroy her hair or her outfit, she hears footsteps behind her.

“Took you long enough,” she says, assuming that it’s Octavia, but then she hears an awkward throat clearing that tells her otherwise.

“I was hoping I’d catch you before you left,” Lexa says hesitantly, “but I can see that you’re busy.”

“I think I’m good now, actually,” Raven says, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth with a grimace. The air is already sobering her up, it seems. “I can probably hold my own hair back, now.”

Clarke makes sure that Raven’s okay and then pushes her down into a sitting position on the ground to wait for Octavia, and then she steps aside with Lexa, an odd fluttering sensation starting up in her ribcage.

It’s silly; Lexa probably wants to tell her that she forgot something at the bar, or maybe she feels guilty for letting Clarke pay for her drinks all night. But that’s all. Clarke can’t allow herself to hope for anything else.

“About that kiss,” Lexa says, and Clarke’s heart jumps.

“You saved my life,” she says, unable to help herself from cutting in. “You didn’t have to do that, and I really appreciate it. Really. So, um, thanks.”

Lexa frowns. “I know I didn’t have to do it.”

“Really, thank you,” Clarke says. “You really helped me out, saving me from the asshole ex and all that.”

Lexa hesitates. “Yeah,” she says, and then she shakes her head. “Actually, no. I mean, I was trying to help with the ex, but that’s not why I kissed you. I did that because I wanted to.” She looks nervous all of a sudden. “And I thought you wanted me to, but maybe I’ve been out of the dating world too long and I totally picked up on the wrong signals, and if I did, then I’m _so_ sorry—” She stops herself, biting her lip. “Did you want me to?”

It takes a moment for Clarke’s brain to catch up to her mouth. “Yes,” she says belatedly, and then nods to reinforce it. “Yeah, I wanted you to.”

Lexa’s cheeks flush red. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Clarke repeats, a stupid smile tugging at her lips. “So.”

“So.”

“We could do it again, if you want,” Clarke suggests, and then wrinkles her nose as, a few feet away, Raven starts vomiting again. “Or you could give me your number and we could meet up somewhere a little less gross.”

Lexa smiles at her, and it may be the greatest thing that Clarke has ever seen.

She writes her phone number on Clarke’s hand in eyeliner pencil, and then Octavia emerges from the club and it’s time to cart Raven off to bed. Lexa goes back inside to her roommate and her straight vodka, though not before sharing a secret smile with Clarke.

Clarke is not a nightclub person.

Clarke is not a nightclub person, but she leaves the club that night with a number scrawled on her skin and the memory of a beautiful girl’s kiss imprinted in her mind—and suddenly, nightclubs don’t seem half as bad as they used to.

 


End file.
